Apollo's Belt
by swishandflickwit
Summary: She cannot believe this is her life. Wait, scratch that. Her partner—in both livelihood and love—is the Devil, who is apparently only ever mortal in her presence, even mortal enough for an ink-stained needle to pierce his skin. This type of shit should be par for the course by now. —Alternatively: The Day Lucifer Got His Slutty Hip 666 Tat. 2nd in The Devil's Lucky Number series.


**AN: The 666 tattoo is obviously a bit of fun in the promo and not actually canon but, discourse has been flowing on tumblr of how Lucifer might go about actually getting one and I couldn't resist adding my two cents haha.**

**For those of you that don't know, the Apollo's belt (aka Adonis belt but obvs we prefer Apollo but it could go both ways when it comes to Lucifer lbr) refers to those delicious V-shaped muscular grooves on the abdominal muscles of either sides of the hips.**

* * *

It should be embarrassing, how quickly she drops everything for him.

But, in her defense, Lucifer isn't in the habit of texting—much less texting without _emojis. _Plus, she's right and proper _invested _now (as if she wasn't all ready before). She takes his truth like a champ because _what's new, _right? If anything, it explains A Lot. But in essence, he's still the same old Lucifer—with his selective hearing, his tendency to ignore protocol and his inability to ever leave her alone. Not that she wants him to, to her mounting mortification.

Suppose she should have seen this coming, but the joke's on her because annoying as he is, she's tits over belly in love with him, anyway. She's in love with the _Devil _like, the _actual _Devil from the Bible—the Bible she not too long ago classified as fiction. There's a cosmic joke that's being played on her but, the truth of the matter is, she's so in love with him, it's not even funny anymore. Or, if it is, you won't find her laughing.

So when she receives his message—_Urgent. Come to the penthouse—_you bet your ass the rest of the world fades for Chloe, and nothing is going to stop her from rushing to his side.

Of course, this is all for nothing, when she reaches his place to find him in a condition that is oh so _very_ the opposite of dangerous.

"Detective!" he greets from the living room, spread out on a massage bed in nothing but his boxers. "You certainly took your time, didn't you? No matter, let's begin."

"Lucifer," she cries, baffled as she digests the scene before her. "I got here as fast as I could. What—"

"Meet Gabriel," he waves towards the hallway next to the bar where a tall, weedy, dark-skinned man with black, shoulder-length hair, glasses, gloves and an apron over a denim button-up and jeans, emerges.

"Call me Gab."

She does not.

"Ironic, I know," Lucifer rolls his eyes. "But rest assured he's not my brother. Just an old friend of mine who—"

"Let me guess, owes you a favor?"

He beams. "You know me so well!"

"Not enough to guess at—" she gesticulates at his almost-nakedness. "We seriously need to redefine your definition of _urgent. _What madness have you roped me into now? I was worried about you, you idiot!"

"My apologies," he returns in a completely unapologetic tone. "I just couldn't pass up this opportunity, you know. I've only been wanting this for eons!"

She shakes her head, uncomprehending. He flails a hand at the set of tools laid out on a small table next to the bed. She hadn't even noticed, her focus shuffling between not clobbering him over the head with one of his horrifically expensive bottles of scotch and preventing herself from having a coronary. Thankfully, she isn't so incapacitated as to not recognize the apparatus for what they are.

"A tattoo? _This _is what was so urgent?"

"Gab's only available for the day, I'm afraid," he pouts and turns wide eyes at her, as if expecting her to sympathize. _Like hell, _she scorns inwardly. "And with you in the know and everything, I can _finally _get one!"

She cannot believe this is her life. Wait, scratch that. Her partner—in both livelihood and love—is the Devil, who is apparently only ever mortal in her presence, even mortal enough for an ink-stained needle to pierce his skin. This type of shit should be par for the course by now.

She sighs. Then settles down by his hip.

"What tattoo are you getting?"

His grin widens.

* * *

"You are disgustingly cliché," she snarls later that night, as she slides her bare flesh down his body so her lips hover tantalizingly over the line of his left oblique, her tongue flirting the edges of his freshly marked skin.

"I'm going to make you _regret _getting this stupid tat."

Somehow, she doubts she succeeds.

* * *

**AN: I'm having a lot of fun with these 666 drabbles but not enough ideas lmao so if you're having as much fun as I am and have any requests, hit me up please!**

**You can also reach me on my tumblr (same handle)!**


End file.
